Markings Of The Mind
by Ratt9
Summary: Rather than leaving there unscathed, Light completely loses his grip over his sanity in solitary confinement and finds himself losing his mind.


Note: This is one of the weirdest things I've written in a _very _long time—maybe ever. Just so you're warned.

* * *

_" . . . my intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity."_

* * *

It is only seventeen days into my period of solitary confinement that I have my first run-in with what is most assuredly the beginning of insanity.

The insidious little thing is very sneaky, you see—very subtle. The madness is inchoate, which allows it to be so subtle, in fact, that I often find that I fail to even notice at first when it is there, and when it is not there.

_(Hello, Light, I am your insanity. I'm so glad you've finally met me.)_

It has only spoken to me once or twice, and when it does, I am sure not to respond. Understand that there is nothing actually wrong with me. It is only the effects of this cell; spending an extended amount of time locked up with nothing to do is surely not good for _anyone's _mind, and honestly means really nothing in particular. While I haven't yet come up with any effective method of precluding it, it truly is something very insignificant and not even worth mentioning. The only reason I do bring it up is that it is not as if, locked up as I am, anything else of note is going on.

* * *

_Light why_

_do you deny _

_me I am your_

_self sense of_

_voices whispering_

_and_

_shadows they dance Light they dance_

_the shadows_

_aren't they_

_impressive?_

_don't ignore me it's_

_impossible_

* * *

It's been a few days since the last time we spoke, since it's not good to be caught too often talking to yourself. I talk to myself now only because it alleviates the loneliness a bit, though my voice does not dare rise above a whisper. With the way the investigation has been going lately, if L discovered that I speak to myself he would be all the more likely to declare that such is something only Kira would do and my stay here would be prolonged to an even further extent. Not that it's going so well for me anyway.

The killings have all stopped since I've been in here, and I'm sure that someone must be setting me up because I'm really not Kira, see. You must understand this.

_(But Light, what if you are?)_

That goddamn voice always talks to me in this stupid glib tone and it annoys the hell out of me, because it always sounds as though it thinks it is better than me, which it unambiguously is not.

I've been finding it a little bit harder to sleep lately, and it's probably because of all that I worry about the Kira case, which is most of the time. What I've figured out, see, is that Kira must be someone who knows about my current situation. They want to frame me. It's so obvious, I wonder why L doesn't see it.

* * *

_somewhere distant and_

_indistinct there_

_is _

_a tiny black_

_room and it_

_belongs to_

_thieves thick as_

_a shot in the dark._

_don't get the wrong_

_idea because_

_it's not a room that_

_you can escape from._

* * *

It's been a few more days, and I've taken to counting the bars of the cell. There are twenty four of them…twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven…

Oh, don't mind that. That's not a big problem, really. It's just that the numbers sometimes get mixed up in my head is all. It happened to the people who were locked up in this cell before I was, and now it is happening to me. Nothing to worry about, I assure.

That abject voice still bothers me, a bit more now even. Huh, I wonder where it is, anyway? It's usually bugging me by now, you know, about how my mind is going to be all gone soon, which is nonsense. That dumb voice doesn't know a word it's saying, you hear me?

It especially comes to me in my dreams. That is when it is probably the most active. Most of what it says doesn't make any sense, but I'm wondering now if maybe I should take to speaking with it, just for something to do. It's terribly boring in here with nothing to do but count the bars all the way up to one hundred and then back down again.

* * *

_the world Light it_

_starts with me don't_

_you know? you're_

_in denial—_

_yes, it's a denial_

_twist_

_you're in and you will_

_continue to be in_

_it because time_

_it means_

_nothing_

_do you hear me_

_Light? nothing _

_at all_

_and _

_you won't even come out of this_

* * *

I'm finding a few things rather interesting—no, peculiar—about this cell. The walls, it is. The walls, they used to be white! Plain white with nothing but the plaster and the paint and yes, they were most certainly once white.

But no longer.

You see, while they have still held on to their same lackluster colour, there is now some sort of pattern on the wall. It is too complex for me to even describe correctly, and even if it weren't, it doesn't matter, because it's different almost every time I look at it. What a versatile wall that is!

The voice is as loquacious as always, but it does not annoy me as it used to. See, I have discovered that maybe the voice provides me with much insight! What I once thought to be just a vacuous disturbance just might actually be the most erudite and intelligent part of my brain! Imagine that.

I came to this conclusion after I stopped and actually listened to what the lost stream of consciousness had to say. And what did I discover?

It told me such valuable thoughts, and it tells me still! Among the most important things the voice has said that I absolutely must not forget are "_paperclips and trains are the insane asylum of the universe_" and "_rose perfume is one of the hidden treasures_."

I do not understand how I did not come up with such things on my own! I certainly hope that I am not becoming vacuous myself.

* * *

_in this world without_

_words_

_mine are_

_just a passing gentle_

_illusion._

_why_

_why_

_why are you_

_sleeping Light_

_when being awake together_

_is as good as_

_eating glass?_

_but we're_

_not are we…_

* * *

It's been so many days now since I last talked to myself and not to this invisible person who is trapped in the cell with me. Why did it take me so long to realize what great company invisible men are? I have been missing out.

"When I get out of here," I say to the man, "will you come as well?"

_No_, it replies, _no, what is lost is gone forever. This is where I belong, now—forever in this cell._

I feel so sad for him. What a saturnine and hapless life that must be! Imagine being stuck in here for all eternity—no, I would die. I must not think such bitter thoughts. And anyway, the invisible man thinks them for me when I don't much feel like thinking them myself. He's such a kind man—I wonder how he got to be invisible?

It is with regret, though, that I say that not even the invisible man knows everything, for I still have been unable to unlock the secret of the changing patterns on the white walls! It is very bothersome, and I spend all day lately trying to figure it out.

I say, "Invisible man, do you know why the pattern on the wall changes so often?"

He says, _I do not see any changing pattern on the wall, Light._

I say, "Really? But it's so clear and obvious. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are invisible. Is it possible that you cannot see the patterns because you are invisible, perhaps?"

I feel a bit guilty saying things like that, though. I feel as though such a statement can be taken to sound racist—racist against invisible people—, which I assure you I am not.

But, if the invisible man did take any offense, he doesn't tell me. No, he is actually a very polite man.

* * *

_you_

_cannot escape not_

_anymore you_

_are too far_

_gone_

_so_

_you can't escape but_

_you don't_

_want_

_to_

_and the_

_shadows they are _

_dancers but they _

_scream_

_in the daylight._

_is this too what_

_you have _

_become?_

* * *

RyuugaRyuzakiL talks to me sometimes. He seems to be wondering about my mental health—the state of my mind. That makes me want to laugh—_he's _concerned with _my _perfectly healthy mental state when _he's _the one who has been keeping the invisible man and I locked up in here for god-knows-how-long?

But I do not laugh, because it might give him the wrong idea.

The detective—whatever his name is—seems concerned the most with what he calls me "talking to myself." Ahahah, if only he knew the truth about the invisible man he is unwittingly keeping locked up with me. But, the detective will never find out about the invisible man, for the invisible man is invisible! After all, the man really is quite clever. I just wish he wouldd teach me the secret as to how he became invisible. It would make for such a wonderful story! Anything to break this monotony.

The detective tells me that the killings still have not resumed. I find this hilarious, and it makes me want to laugh and laugh, because that detective is such a fool, for I am not Kira, but it is instead only that I often wish I were! But he does not see that.

* * *

_all crows Light are_

_either black or_

_they are not black._

_say it _

_over and_

_over and_

_over_

_and_

_over again but_

_it will_

_not make a_

_difference because_

_the words don't_

_actually mean_

_anything_

_and_

_you've just opened_

_an imaginary door _

_Light._

_what do you see?_

* * *

What's this? The cell doors have opened and I am finally free? How wonderful!

But…

Why do I want to go back?

Perhaps it is the man, the invisible man. He must not have known what he was saying when he said that he would not be coming out of the cell with me, because he follows me still!

I can hear his trudging footsteps following from all the way behind me and I look back and no one is there. Well, why would I see anybody there, when I am friends with invisible people so?

The detective is not invisible; in fact, he is quite noticeable and stands out quite a lot. Perhaps he should brush his teeth—

I do not know where, exactly, they are taking me. Perhaps we can now finally get to work on the Kira case—_finally_—but something tells me different. Perhaps it is the way he has loaded up the invisible man and I into a strange car, driven by people wearing medical uniforms.

The last I see of the detective before I am driven away is of him biting his lip wearing an expression as though he has realized he has made a mistake. I wonder what type of mistake he has made! He surely has made many.

* * *

I am fully aware that there are parts of this that don't sound like something Light would say, but I was trying to show how far gone he was by making him speak in a different manner. I have actually gone through a lot of this myself—hallucinations, hearing voices, acting completely crazy but thinking there was nothing wrong with me, etc—and, based on my own experiences with mental illnesses, a lot of Light's experiences in this are accurate for what someone might experience who is losing their sanity. Just to put that out there.

I am aware of how incredibly weird this fic is, but I do hope you enjoyed it all the same! Thank you very much for reading, and reviews will make the nice invisible man happy. =]

~Ratt Kazamata, 4/27/2012


End file.
